Ready... Set... Wait....

After two weeks of "nesting" (read: "frenzied preparation panic"), the relentless to-do list shrunk substantially.  The fully geared-up crib, dresser, and diaper bag collect dust.  The birth center bags clutter up corners of the apartment.  Anxiety about sudden early labor wanes; anticipation about actual labor and motherhood fill in the gap.

No complaints about a little extra time ... yet.  Each day my belly tightens more, and Ramlet kicks at my right ribcage to remind me he's coming.  Later I'll work on some other project, but for now I'll rest with my swollen feet propped up and sipping some organic pregnancy tea.



Thanks for the nail polish suggestions--I went with the first vote of Chop-Sticking to My Story!

Remaining Me

My due date approaches faster final exams before Christmas Break.  I've taken classes, read books, and practiced breathing/relaxation techniques.  Still, no one knows the exact form of this pinnacle moment until it actually unfolds.

Regardless birthing, and motherhood, will become a part of who I am ... part of my identity ... just like my love for vibrant pedicures.

OPI:  quick-drying, long-lasting colors with bizarre names.

If I hold my breath I can still reach my toes so there's time for a little glamour before the big day.  Line up, OPI collection.  Sound off: Suzi Says Da (chocolate-y brown), Blue My Mind (sapphire blue), Chop-Sticking to My Story (burnt orange), Alpine Snow (crisp white), Java Mauve-A (ballet-y pink), Black Cherry Chutney (dark purple with red sparkles), and Sand in My Suit (iridescent beige).

Which color should brighten the birthing room?

Sari Dress: Completion (Part III)

While it only took a little longer than a week to make the sari dress, this final post about the dress ended up procrastinated.  I'd like to blame this delay on photography and finicky sunlight, but honestly I'm hesitant to be the model showing this dress.  My doctors assure me the recent weight gain is healthy--so much so I should keep gaining for a few more months.  Still, I'm finding myself a little camera shy as this "plump is pretty" phase continues.

The sari dress: from inception through creation toward completion!

After a few days of sewing recovery, I spent one morning eliminating the bulk of the original tube dress.  I ripped out some seams; I hacked off another foot or so of the sari.  No measuring, but I did iron before sewing a seam to keep the fabric from fraying.  By hand, I whip-stitched the inner side of the green edge to the plum wine edge to close the tube.

Another "fitting" in front of my bedroom mirror.  I couldn't get over how the ribbon (originally intended for straps) still created such a perfect empire waist by simply tying it around me.  With the extra fabric gone the potato sack look disappeared and a flattering dress emerged.  The forest green material, however, limply cascaded to the floor.  The sari dress still needed a little more flare, and I didn't need a tripping hazard.

So far, no dress pattern meant infinite possibilities, but now I grew uncertain about what to do with the forest green flap hanging down my right side.  The evolvement of the ribbon-cinched empire waist nixed my previous ideas of turning the green section into an apron-like overlay, a twisted bust-line, or an over-the-shoulder drape.  Husband grew quiet as I rambled awkward solutions.

It was time to risk some help.  

A few days later I donned the unfinished dress, along with fancy jewelry and gold shoes, for Mom's critical eye.  Despite her original hesitancy about taking scissors to such a exquisite piece of fabric, Mom instantly wanted to help design the in-process sari dress.  I posed in front of the mirror; Mom moved the fabric around.  When she folded up the top of the green end under my arm, the angled fabric gracefully fell around my figure.  We both knew the next design phase: a pleat at the top of the forest green swag.

Excited to implement this pleat, Mom saved me from laboring through more sewing by efficiently zipping the sari through her modern sewing machine (one with electricity and a foot pedal).  When I tried the dress on again she suggested adding a little more practicality: straps.  We pulled out the leftover sari and snipped off a bit of the plum wine, past the gold embroidery.  After a game of fabric pinching and pinning, Mom designed straps that mimicked the soft gathered look of the dress.


While I enjoyed sole designer status as I conceptualized and began the sari dress, finishing the dress with Mom's creative input and sewing expertise actualized a vivid sari into a one-of-a-kind special occasion gown.

The front of the dress: plum wine and gold.

The back of the dress: plum wine meets forest green.

Beautiful gown with room to grow.

PS.  I left the antique sewing machine at Mom's....

Sari Dress: Creation (Part II)

My grandmothers, one a home seamstresses and the other a professional tailor, could sew.  The machine, pictured here, originally belonged to my maternal great-grandmother.  With a little oil and patience Mom keeps it in working condition.  Mom's a better seamstress than she'd ever admit.  My childhood showcased one-of-a-kind dresses and comfy summer shorts.  I survived the high school jeans dilemma by Mom's alteration skills.  Mom even stitched the final hem on the front part of my silk organza wedding dress.

Despite my family history, the gene that understands geometry and enjoys pinning fabric to patterns didn't make it into my predisposition.  Fashion and design, I love.  I've got an entire file of fashion magazine cut-outs of clothing and accessories, not to buy the items, but because some aspect of the design intrigues me.  Husband would say this contributes to my pickiness as a shopper, but I digress.

For me, this sari dress is about creating something beautiful to wear, not about becoming a seamstress.  From the start, I knew I would work without a pattern and based off of the intrinsic qualities of the fabric.  I would attempt as little sewing as required to make the garment wearable in public.

After a good deal of time wrapping myself with the sari in front of my bedroom mirror, I clarified my vision for the dress.  First, the material looked most beautiful as a tube dress which highlighted the gold embroidery and the dramatic shift from forest green into plum wine.  Second, the sari wanted to retain some of it's character, namely the texture called for some sort of drape or pleat or gather.

With this vague notion of a simple dress with a unique touch--like a bi-color twisted bust-line or an over-the-shoulder drape or an around the waist gathered overlay--I headed to JoAnn Fabrics for plum wine thread and something for straps.  I came home with the thread and the last 3/4 yard of "ribbon"--gold thread woven around purple-ish sequins (draped in the background).

As I rethreaded the machine to begin, I realized Great-Grandma's steel antique boasts two other features I love.  First, the machine produces a chain stitch (without a bobbin!) so seams can easily be ripped out--you pull on the one end and "frog" it as in knitting or crocheting.  This expedites the  many corrections I'm sure to need to make.  Also, the hand-crank wheel only works at one speed (how fast you whirl it) and in one direction: forward.  Ready or not, I ironed the sari and got out the scissors.

Despite the hours invested, the first day sewing wasn't pretty or, honestly, productive.  My first two hems were on the wrong side of the fabric (frog it!).  The seam at the top of the dress was so tight it took almost a half-hour of inching the elastic through on a small safety pin.  Then I tried the tube dress on.  Inspiration flared so I used the ribbon, originally bought to become straps, tied around my figure to create an empire waist.  The mirror said one thing: flattering, yet bulky.  Husband, leery of my "sewing" project, hesitantly agreed.  I needed to thin the dress by about a foot so I didn't look like a cinched up potato sack.  It was time to get out the scissors again.

Sari Dress: Completion (Part III)

Sari Dress: Inception (Part I)

Besides moving this summer there's another, bigger, game-changer looming on my life's horizon.  Life will be different come autumn leaves and apple butter.  To prepare, I'm over-compensating: finishing projects I've started, projects I've only dreamed about.

My brother gave me a sari after a trip through Southeast Asia.  The fabric is beyond exquisite.  Lustrous gold embroidery flirts across a field of forest green that abruptly blushes into a bouquet of plum wine.

Upon opening this gift, I immediately swathed myself in the sari--a disaster because (1) I was wearing a sweater and jeans underneath, (2) the fabric is too long for me to wear in the traditional style, and (3) despite growing up with multicultural influences, I don't know how to wear a sari properly.

So the fabric, yards and yards of luscious beauty, ended up folded compactly and stored out of sight.  But never out of mind.

Occasionally I sketched dress designs.  Sometimes I peaked into the box to reabsorb the vibrant colors.  Yet, I hesitated.  Starting a project allows for the possibility of failure.  As my mother warned: cloth once snipped, always snipped.

Also, I hate sewing.

Next time ... Sari Dress: Creation (Part II)